I was Thrown into an Unfamiliar Manga

…Somehow, I got swept up in the moment and ended up saying something way too serious.
As I awkwardly fiddled with the glass in my hand, Kishimoto—who’d been smiling to herself—suddenly broke the silence.
“Alright then! Kim-kun! Let’s start calling each other by name!”

I could never keep up with her signature mood swings.
“That suddenly?”
“They say the fastest way to grow closer is yobisute! Try calling me!”

As an outsider, I couldn’t grasp her extrovert logic, but I decided to go along with it.
“Then… Rika.”
At that, Kishimoto beamed and nodded.

“Great, call me that from now on. Ryu-chan.”
“Ryu-chan?”
Just hearing that name made me instinctively cringe.

She calmly explained,
“See, your name in on-yomi is Ryusei, right? So I just took the first part—Ryu-chan.”
With a rising wave of internal shame, I trembled and pleaded with both hands.

“…Can’t you just call me Yu-seong like a normal person?”
“Huh? But all my friends use nicknames!”
“Every single one of them?”

“Every single one!”
I stared at Kishimoto’s unwavering expression, clearly not about to back down, and ultimately gave up.
“Hoo… Fine. Call me whatever you want.”
“Hehe, that was the plan all along.”

After placing her empty barley tea glass on the desk, Kishimoto spun the chair around and swung her legs, facing the bookshelf.
“So then, Ryu-chan, what’s your favorite shounen manga here?”
As I picked up her empty glass and tray, I answered.

“The one on the top shelf—Golden Samurai.”
“Oh! I love that one too!”
Surprised and delighted by my answer, she clapped her hands.

She seemed genuinely pleased that we had something in common.
“I still reread it sometimes from beginning to end when I feel like it.”
Saying that, I pulled down volume 1 of Golden Samurai and showed it to her.

“Wow! It’s a first edition! This came out fifteen years ago—it’s super hard to find now!”
Apparently swept up in nostalgia, she started stomping her feet excitedly.
Golden Samurai was the second full-length manga by the artist Kishimoto Musashi, and it told the story of William, an Irish navigator who ended up in Japan by chance.

The manga began with a shipboard mutiny, in which a Black slave killed William’s friend and fled by boat to a Far Eastern island country.
William entered Japan to avenge his friend and, in the process, met Tokugawa Ieyasu, one of the warlords of the Sengoku era. He received the name Miura Anjin and the status of a samurai.
William, a blond foreigner, was called the “Golden Samurai,” and while serving under Ieyasu, he gradually grew in skill, all while searching for the escaped slave who had killed his friend.

Eventually, he discovered that one of Oda Nobunaga’s retainers, the “Black Samurai” Yasuke, was in fact that very man—and he challenged him to a duel.
William emerged victorious in the final duel, but by then he had learned the truth about his friend’s cruelty toward the slave. He spared Yasuke—who had long since cast away his former name—and instead of killing him, cut off his topknot. Then, losing ❖ Nоvеl𝚒ght ❖ (Exclusive on Nоvеl𝚒ght) an arm in the process, he returned to his homeland.
At 28 volumes, the series was either long or short depending on how you looked at it, but I always loved the art style, like a moving ink painting, and the dry ending that declared, “Vengeance is empty.”

The psychological depth along the way and the foreshadowing of forgiveness were masterfully woven throughout.
After listening to me rave about Golden Samurai for nearly ten minutes, Kishimoto shivered and blushed like she was the one being praised.
“I mean, I really love this manga too, but I’ve never met anyone who loves it as much as you do, Ryu-chan.”

“It’s not that big a deal. I just bought the books, I don’t even collect merch or anything.”
“Huh? No no, if Papa heard your review just now, he’d be really happy.”
…What?

I froze.
Thinking I must’ve misheard, I was about to ask again when Kishimoto smiled and casually dropped a bombshell.
“Actually, Kishimoto Musashi is my Papa’s pen name.”

***
A manga artist.
Kishimoto Musashi.
Real name: Kishimoto Sojiro.
Kishimoto is a fairly common surname in Japan, so I hadn’t noticed.

I didn’t realize that Kishimoto Rika was the daughter of that god-tier artist.
Come to think of it, the signs were all there from the beginning.
She lived in Seijo—one of Tokyo’s most affluent neighborhoods—her father was a successful mangaka, and she was blonde.

Golden Samurai was released right after Kishimoto Musashi married his British wife, and there were even theories on the wiki that her influence had shaped the work to some extent.
And the author’s hometown? Shizuoka.
It’s a classic romcom cliché to have a friend whose parent is famous. Why didn’t I catch on?

I felt like the king of idiots, like a sea cucumber or a barnacle-brained jellyfish.
Swallowing nervously, I asked her,
“Think I could… maybe get his autograph?”

Kishimoto beamed and nodded.
“No problem at all. Actually, if you come over sometime, I’ll introduce you myself!”
“!!!”

My heart skipped a beat, and I clutched my chest.
Is this… what they call the dream of a successful fan?
To meet the legendary Kishimoto Musashi in person—this was nothing short of an honor for my entire lineage.

“Th-then let me know whenever it works.”
“Sure! I’ll ask him when he gets home.”
In that moment, I was truly glad I had become friends with her.

Screw the original story—who cares about that now?!
I’m going to meet Kishimoto-sensei!
“Well, it’s getting late, so I should get going! Mama’s probably on her way back too!”

“Oh? Oh, yeah, okay.”
I walked her to the station.
“See you tomorrow, Ryu-chan!”

…Everything’s great, but please don’t use that name in public.
***
The next day, after a whirlwind of a day had passed.

When I got to school in the morning, for some reason there was an unfamiliar desk placed next to mine—and Kishimoto Rika was sitting there.
“Morning! Ryu-chan!”
I blinked in confusion.

“Rika, why are you sitting here?”
With a cheerful smile, Kishimoto tapped her desk.
“I talked to the teacher and switched seats this morning. There’s lots of space around you anyway.”

“…That’s true.”
Seeing the two of us talking so casually, the early birds who were already in class started whispering.
“The transfer student… what kind of dirt does Kim-kun have on her to make her sit there?”

“Maybe he blackmailed her yesterday or something?”
“‘Be my woman.’”
“Kyaaah!”

I rubbed my temples at their intentionally loud whispers and pulled my English textbook and notebook from my desk.
First period was English.
Thanks to my TOEIC score of 900 back in university, I didn’t really need to study for it, but Japanese English education was notoriously twisted due to its focus on grammar.

Kishimoto, who had been absentmindedly staring at her phone, saw my notebook and seemed to remember last week’s English homework. She quickly held out her hand.
“Ryu-chan, let me see your homework.”
“Sure.”

Somehow, it felt less like having a female friend and more like I’d gained a very needy little sister.
***
Once the second week of the new semester rolled around, students started settling into school life.

Their messy biological clocks, disrupted during spring break, slowly synced up with a proper daily routine.
And around this time, the school's annual club recruitment war began.
“Soccer club! Most popular with the girls! Join us!”

“Basketball club! Unlike soccer, we’ve got cute managers who wipe your sweat!”
“Anyone want to burn their youth with the light music club?!”
“Freshmen! Join the board game club! We’ve got every kind—Western and Eastern! All we need is you!”

For the first time in a while, I was attending the student council as secretary. I stood on the third floor next to the president and vice president, watching the chaos unfold below.
“It’s started again. The desperate struggle of club leaders to recruit freshmen.”
“Ohohohoho! If they joined our student council, they wouldn’t need to bother with such lowly advertising!”

Listening to their conversation beside me, I cautiously asked,
“Um… is there a reason we have to make this feel so… villainous?”
At that, the president, fanning herself with a wide black fan, scolded me like I didn’t understand anything.

“Those in high places have a duty to observe the lives of the commoners! Kim Yu-seong, how can you be top of your grade and not even know that?!”
“Indeed! Indeed!”
As the two of them launched into what now felt like a full-on comedy skit, I stuffed my hands into my pockets and asked,

“More importantly, could you just tell me why you suddenly called me to the student council room?”
The vice president pointed at me and declared,
“Kim Yu-seong! You have no sense of duty as a student council member! You never come to the office, and our lady is heartbroken!”

“…Please, go on.”
“You arrogant rogue! Today, I, Akagi Shinjiro—her loyal right-hand—will bring you down!”
The vice president’s glasses flashed dramatically as he shouted. But the president, blushing furiously, quickly denied it.

“I-I never said I was heartbroken!”
As the chaos unfolded before me, I quietly raised my hand and asked,
“If there’s no official business, may I return to class?”

““No!””
This is insane.